


It's About Time

by katyb64



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Caught in the Act, Coming Out, Couch Sex, Drabbles, M/M, Poor Molly, gross flirting, ugh so gross they're such losers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyb64/pseuds/katyb64
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles I've written about John and Sherlock's relationship becoming more and more public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mrs. Hudson

**Author's Note:**

> I have more of these on the way (Philip and Sally, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, possibly Harry, etc.) but if there's any characters you're dying to have find out about Sherlock and John, please let me know! I'll do crossovers too!

Her boys were fighting, Mrs. Hudson could tell. They were being loud while trying to be quiet, and that only happened when they were fighting. Biscuits, she thought. Maybe a slice or two of that pie she made yesterday, they were both rather fond of it. Baked goods make everything better.

She headed up the stairs with half the pie in hand. More is better than less, that's her philosophy. She bustled in without knocking, never has the need to with John and Sherlock, the dears. 

They act all rough and tough but she knows they adore her, and with Sherlock it never fails to make her tear up. So special, that man. John's lucky to have him. They act coy and deny it, but Mrs. Hudson knows better, always has. She has a sense about these things. 

John groaned Sherlock's name from inside the flat, likely in exasperation and Mrs. Hudson tutted. Special, yes, but that didn't make him any less infuriating when he gets in one of his moods. Her hip makes the trip upstairs slow and patient, but she was certain that the thankfulness of her boys would more than make up for it.

“Yoo-hoo!” She called as she walked through the door. “I've brought- oh dear!”

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock growled from where he was sat on the couch... on top of John. Oh dear indeed.

She started to laugh, couldn't help it really, blushing and looking away. “Oh, I'm so sorry boys, I thought you were having a little row, I brought you a bit of a treat to help. Not a fight at all, oh, I'm terribly sorry!”

“It's quite all right, Mrs. Hudson.” John mumbled, and though she couldn't see a bit of him besides his knees (thankfully) she can tell he's blushing. “We um... we tried to be quiet.” Sherlock let out a long suffering sigh.

“Oh, it's fine dear. I should have knocked. It's a miracle this is the first time this has happened really, I'll just leave this in the kitchen. My hip, you know, it's not good for an old thing like me to be carrying things up and down the stairs.” She fluttered to the kitchen, quickly setting the pie down. Quick as she can, anyway, not wanting it near anything toxic.

She could hear whispering from the couch she was pointedly not looking at.

“A miracle, what does she mean by that?”

“She's thought we were in a relationship since you moved in.”

“I told her we weren't!”

“Well she clearly knew better than you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“As soon as she's gone you can make me.” 

Then there was a sort of wet noise that Mrs. Hudson hoped was kissing. 

“Ah! None of that while she's in here.” 

“But John-”

“Okay, I'll be going!” She interrupted, puttering over to the door. “Oh, I would hate for the pie to go to waste, will you be long? I can put it in the fridge, or-”

“MRS. HUDSON!” The pair on the couch shouted in tandem, a bit of desperation in their tones.

“Sorry, sorry! I'll be off! Don't mind me, I won't be up here again for a while.” She sped out, shutting the door behind herself with a chuckle. She liked for her boys to be happy, even if they're going to be loud about it. The noises resumed seconds after she'd gone, and Mrs. Hudson hurries as much as she can. She certainly doesn't want to hear all that. Those boys of hers... they'll be the death of her. She loved them to bits.


	2. Greg Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next are written in the present tense, since I'm trying to practice with that. I hope it's not too strained?

It's been a fine day for Greg Lestrade, a fine day indeed. He's nearly caught up in his paperwork, Sherlock's actually being what one might call co-operative, and the coffee from the cafeteria is surprisingly not disgusting. A fine day. He'd just left John and Sherlock in his office for a moment, filling out reports and then to glance over the details of the latest case (Sherlock had only complained twice! John really had done a number on him) and was returning to them now, hopefully to get at least a suspect, if not the actual perp. A real viscous killer, Greg'll be glad to put them away. He feels positively cheerful for the first time in a long time. And then he opens the door to his office.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

John wrenches himself from Sherlock quickly, stepping away from the man seated on the desk. _Greg's_ desk. He wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand, lips shiny with spit ( _Sherlock's_ spit) and turns such a deep shade of red it looks as though he's been sunburnt. Sherlock glares at Lestrade with venom, not bothering to wipe his mouth or get off the desk.

“What the fuck!” Greg continues to exclaim, because there is so much information being poured into his brain that there's not much else he can do. “Really, I mean, in my fucking office! Jesus!”

“Sorry Greg.” John apologizes quickly, staring resolutely at his shoes. “Christ, I'm sorry. We were just-”

“John, he knows what we were doing.” Sherlock interrupts, still shooting Greg a look so vicious he would have shuddered if he hadn't built up a tolerance. “In fact, if he'd leave we could get back to it."

Greg looks at him with disbelief. “You're supposed to be working on a case!”

“I can think and kiss John at the same time.”

“Bollocks.”

Sherlock glances over at John. “Well maybe if you didn't do that thing with your tongue.” John smirks slightly, proud, before his expression slips back into one of deep embarrassment. Greg wants to hit his head against the wall.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry Greg.” John sighs, though Greg isn't sure how convincing it is anymore.

“I'm not.” Sherlock chimes in.

John rolls his eyes at the same time Greg does. “Sherlock, come on. Let's go look for clues or something.”

Sherlock's glare is back, pinned to Lestrade's face. “Spoilsport.” He mutters.

John sighs and leans closer to Sherlock, whispering something that Greg is thankful he can't hear. Sherlock visibly brightens, back straightening and eyes lighting up as he hops off of the desk. “Well, we best go looking for those clues!” Sherlock chirps, tugging John by the sleeve to the door. “Bye Gus!”

“It's Greg.”

“I don't care!"

John's little cry of “Sherlock!” is only half as upset as Greg thinks it ought to be, and then they're gone with a swish of Sherlock's coat and the quiet click of the door. When the detective-inspector sits down at his desk, surprisingly-decent coffee gone cold, he stares at the door in shock.

Sherlock and John.

Huh.

They'd all suspected, but... _Sherlock_. He'd never once expected to see Sherlock in a relationship, not really, and to be so... _eager._

Greg smiles slightly at nothing, starting in on the reports Sherlock hadn't bothered even to start. A fine day indeed.

 


	3. Mycroft Holmes

“Brother dearest.” Mycroft greets as he makes his way into 221b, knocking not something he even considered. He knows Sherlock is currently sitting on the couch on John's laptop, checked before he went inside. How useful CCTV can be. Sherlock groans loudly, hiding his face behind the screen, away from his brother. “I do believe I have a case for you.” He continues, undaunted. “An eight, going by your scale.” Sherlock reluctantly lifts his head to look at him.

“Well?” The detective grumbles. “Spit it out or leave.”

Mycroft smiles in the way he knows disturbs people ever-so slightly. “Mr. Hartsford, a close associate of mine, has-” He pauses and frowns, inspecting his brother more closely. “Something's changed.”

Nobody in the world except another Holmes would have noticed the miniscule shift in Sherlock's posture. Back the tiniest bit straighter, defensive. His voice stays even, bored and annoyed as ever, but Mycroft knows better. “Has it?” Sherlock drawls, feigning disinterest.

“Yes.” Mycroft says decisively.

“You're probably having withdrawal, perhaps you should go back on the chocolate.” Sherlock sneers.

Mycroft thinks. Something's off, but what? Something in his posture, the expression he had... Something lighter. Sherlock was... happy. Ah.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Sherlock's expression darkens, no more pretending. “Don't start.” He pushes the laptop onto the cushion beside him and crosses his arms over his chest in a huff. Mycroft smiles deviously.

“No, really, it's just _delightful_.. Mummy and Father will be so thrilled.”

“Don't you dare tell them!”

“Oh they'll want to meet him right away.”

“Mycroft I _swear_ -”

“Oh, you don't want them to meet?” Mycroft sits down on John's chair because he knows how it irritates Sherlock and crosses one leg over the other elegantly. “Mm, it appears I'm holding a secret for you, brother dear.”

Sherlock glowers, looking for all the world like the psychopath he's always accused of being.“Just tell me what you want out of me.”

Mycroft taps a finger to his chin as though he's thinking very carefully. “Five cases.”

“ _Five_!? _”_

“And you have to spend two nights with them next time they're in town.”

“You're the devil.” Sherlock spits.

“And I was going to tell you that Auntie Eunice is coming to town, and I was going to take her out. You'll be coming with.”

“... _Fine._ ”

“Excellent.” Mycroft stands, leaning on his umbrella. “Do give John my best.”

“Bastard.” Sherlock pulls his knees up to his chest and huffs. Mycroft just chuckles.

“It's been a pleasure.”

Mycroft turns to leave, pleased not only because he'd just guaranteed five government cases solved but also because... well, Sherlock was happy. Despite what he knows Sherlock often thinks, he doesn't want him to be miserable. Though torturing him is fun on occasion. Just as he's neared the door, the one to Sherlock's room creaks open and a very well-rested John Watson steps out, Sherlock's dressing gown thankfully covering him. He smiles sleepily at Sherlock. “Love, you weren't- Mycroft!” John jumps when he notices the man, pulling the gown tighter around himself. “Uh, I was just, well, you see-”

“I'm sure you were just making his bed.” Mycroft holds back his laughter. It wouldn't be dignified to howl with it.

Sherlock looks at Mycroft with such anger that he wants to laugh again. “You were just leaving?'

He grins. “Oh, perhaps I'll stay a while.”

Sherlock smiles tightly back. “Fine. John I will go into my room first, we'll be a few minutes, but after that-”

“Sherlock!” John looks mildly horrified, and, Mycroft can't help but notice, interested.

The idea of sitting in the living room while his baby brother shags his flatmate is rather unappealing, so Mycroft nods his head politely at John as he takes his leave. “No, I really must be going. And Sherlock, just for that I'm making it seven. Goodbye!” Mycroft narrowly avoids being hit by the cushion that's thrown at him, letting it shut the door for him. He hears the remainder of their conversation as he descends the steps.

“Seven?” John asks, sounding baffled.

“I'll explain later... Go back into my room.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it'll just be a few minutes.”

Mycroft hurries out the door.


	4. Molly Hooper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to past tense we go.

“So, um, I was just sort of...”

“Hm?' Sherlock glanced up from his microscope, glaring. Molly looked away, cheeks reddening.

“S-sorry, it was just... I thought maybe...”

“Oh, do speak up Molly. I can't understand a word you're saying, and I'm busy. Quite busy, so if you would- John!” Sherlock brightened, actually sort-of _smiling_ as the door opened and shut, the army doctor stepping inside with a proper smile to greet Sherlock's with and carrying a tray of hot drinks.

“Hey, I know you're busy but I got off work early and I figured-”

“No, no. I'm not all that busy, just a few small things...” Sherlock didn't acknowledge the coffee John set down for him on the counter, but that was more than expected.

Molly thought from the way he'd been pacing and cursing that he was busy, knew for a fact he was, but John was always an exception to Sherlock's 'don't-bug-me' rule. “Hi John.” She murmured, raising her hand weakly.

John turned to her, surprised. He hadn't noticed her, it seemed. It wouldn't be the first time, she thought. “Molly, hi! Didn't see you there, sorry. Brought you a coffee, actually. Figured Sherlock was terrorizing you.” He managed to say it in a way that was nothing but affectionate, though Sherlock still scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you didn't have to... thank you, John, that was sweet of you... And he's been fine, really, just his usual self. Which is a good thing! I didn't mean-” Molly shook her head, looking down at her shoes.

John just laughed, taking a sip of his own drink. “No need for explanations. I know you're one of the few who he actually likes, not that he'd ever admit it. It's hard to get mad at him when he likes you, he'll just make one of his faces, and-”

“I'm right here, you know.” Sherlock grumbled, looking (more like glaring, now) once again into his microscope.

“Are you?” John teased, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Well I didn't notice. Must've been the lack of complaining.” He chuckled, leaned forward and...

He kissed the back of Sherlock's head.

He just... kissed him.

And Sherlock didn't throw a tantrum or anything.

The world didn't stop turning, nobody was swallowed up by a black hole, nothing.

Molly stared at them both, mouth slightly open.

The boys were unaware, Sherlock mock-pouting at John and the doctor clearly not giving a fig, instead teasing Sherlock about the lack of slides in his microscope. The man had removed the one he was looking at when John came in, pretending after that point. Molly continued to gape as the two chatted, or, more accurately, blatantly flirted.

“Shouldn't you, oh, I don't know, be solving the case?”

“I _was_ solving it. You interrupted with your coffee and your... presence.”

“Would you like me to leave, then?”

“No, no, I'm fine with being distracted. I'm just saying it isn't my _fault_.”

“Ah, I see. It's mine for having... a presence?”

“You have a distracting presence. It's... tempting.”

“Oi, not here.”

“But John, I'm bored.”

“You're always bored.”

“I've been doing some newer activities that keep me _quite_ occupied, actually.”

“Sherlock, I swear to God, if you don't-” John caught a glimpse of Molly in his peripheral vision and interrupted himself, concerned. “Molly? What's wrong?” He swiveled to face her.

Molly's face turned bright red when Sherlock and John turned to look at her, not having realized how obvious her gaping was. “S-sorry, I just, it's only, well-” She winced as Sherlock let out a long-suffering sigh. “It's just that I hadn't realized, that, well, the both of you. Sorry, I'm just, well, it's surprising, because I always thought that, well, Sherlock isn't, and John you've never...” She trailed off, looking at her shoes. “Sorry.”

“Molly, it's all right.” John assured her, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, Sherlock and I are-”

“In a romantic partnership.”

“Dating. He means we're dating.” John rolled his eyes, Sherlock's formal terms for their relationship getting tedious. “Don't interrupt me during the speech, or I'll call you my boyfriend.”

Sherlock groaned. “It's so _juvenile._ ”

“So's your whining, but you don't hear me complaining.”

“You constantly complain about my whining. Not that I whine.”

“Right.”

“I _don't_.”

John chuckled, ruffling Sherlock's curls. “Fine. Now solve the case so we can go home. You need to eat.”

Sherlock glared at him, dramatically smoothing down his hair.

“Right... Congratulations...” Molly smiled weakly, feeling her eyes start to prickle. “Um, I've got some work to do. I'll be going.”

John frowned. “Are you sure? We could-”

“I'm sure.” She interrupted. “Sorry. Sorry, it's just- I'm very busy. Bye. Thanks for the coffee.” She turned swiftly on her heel and left, stopping in the hallway to calm herself down. She had known, somewhere inside, that it wasn't going to happen with Sherlock. He didn't like her that way, never would, and he was rude and mean and...

Molly had wanted to be what John was, to be an exception. Wasn't that something, to be an exception to somebody so extraordinary? But, no, she was just Molly, useful to flirt with to get extra fingers from the morgue. She decided to go home early and cuddle up on the sofa, watch some soaps. Maybe buy a pint of ice cream, too.

“Molly!” A familiar deep voice called, making her turn in surprise.

“Hi, um, did you need something?” She asked Sherlock, trying to not sound heartbroken.

“No.” Sherlock looked at her, doing his special trick. She was sure he knew all that she was thinking. “You're upset. Because of John and I.”

Molly looked to her feet, saying nothing. It was embarrassing enough as it was. However, she looked up in total shock when a soft kiss was pressed to her forehead.

“You deserve better than I could be to you.”

She looked at him in shock, no words coming to mind. Sherlock looked at her for a bit longer before turning on his heel, calling for John to leave with him. John called him an arsehole and followed, grinning and sending a wave Molly's way.

Molly feels the hot tears slipping down her face. Not bitter or disappointed tears, these. She was overwhelmed, hopeful that she could find something in her life that would make her as happy as John Watson made Sherlock Holmes, and vice versa. 


End file.
